The head landed on the dungeon floor with a thud and a sick splat as the body crumpled next to it. With swift movements, Ethan pulled the feather from his pocket and slid it into the vertebrae. Seconds later, John was nothing but dust.
As a Demon it should be black.
Vampires and Sirens crystallized into small diamond like dust.
But Dark Ones… always went red, a signal of the human blood flowing through their veins.
The dust was both red and black.
Ethan cursed. “Cassius, I think we have a problem.”
“The hell?” I leaned down and touched the dust. “It’s… mixed.” Angry, I shook my head. “Did Stephanie…” I hated to accuse her but it was the only explanation. “Did she give any of her blood to the Demons?”
“Maybe you should ask her yourself,” Stephanie said from the stairway. “Would I betray those I love… twice?”
Stephanie
I WAS WORRIED. Worried because Cassius had none of my blood left, and I didn’t want him to face a crazed Demon.
Instead, the tables were turned back on me once I made my way down the stairs.
“Well?” Ethan crossed his arms.
“Great to know you guys really trust me,” I said sarcastically while my chest tightened.
Cassius’s face softened. “You’re the only other Dark One we know of in existence.”
“And what? You think I’d just give over my blood t
o a sick dirty little Demon? So he could use it?”
They both fell silent.
“Well.” I crossed my arms. “You’re more than welcome to let Alex invade my thoughts… but I’m telling the truth.”
“Damn it,” Cassius muttered. “It would be so much easier if you weren’t.”
“Pardon?” Now I was really confused. I glanced down at the dust at Cassius’s feet and gasped. “Is that John?”
“John can’t talk right now,” Ethan said in a chipper voice. “He was annoying the hell out of me, but his dust shouldn’t be—”
“—red.” I finished. “It should be black, mixed with flecks of gray depending on how old he was but… red means he was given the blood of a Dark One.”
“Right.” Cassius stood and then fell back to his knees. “Damn this weak human vessel!”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing, he sounded so medieval, looked it too with his long black hair hanging nearly to his shoulders, his aristocratic face was too pretty to exist in this modern era.
“Come on,” I lifted him into my arms. “Bed.”
“And my shame is complete,” he muttered as I carried him upstairs. “A woman is carrying my weak body up the stairs as if I weigh nothing but a feather.”
“Less than that, actually.”
“Because that’s ever so helpful to my pride.”
“Sorry.”
“Then why are you smiling?”